


Something Lucky About This Place

by Rat_chan



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 00:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15919191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rat_chan/pseuds/Rat_chan
Summary: After they get cleared from medical after the debacle with Fletcher and Murdoc, Cage pulls Jack aside.Mac needs to talk about everything that happened, including what he hasn't told them yet. And Jack needs to be the one to listen.Set after X-ray + Penny, obviously, with relatively mild one-sided Murdoc/Mac overtones. Not strong enough to rate warnings or give it a M/M tag, I felt.





	Something Lucky About This Place

**Author's Note:**

> I was stuck for a title, so I just used lyrics from the Tom Petty song "Something Good Coming".
> 
> This story is just a combination of me succumbing to ep2x04 evil plot bunnies, wanting to give the people more Jack&Mac friendshippy goodness, and wanting to use fiction to explain my take on why Murdoc told the story about Nadia.

"There's something Mac's not telling us." Cage pulled Jack aside before he could follow MacGyver out of medical. They were more than a little bruised and battered after being tumbled around in a heavy vehicle, but they had somehow evaded genuine injury during Murdoc's "rescue" stunt.

"You mean like a cracked rib he's trying to hide?" He eyed his friend through the glass doors. Mac was hugging Bozer and Riley without any sign of undue pain. They were squeezing him pretty tightly it looked like -- no doubt seeking their own reassurance that he was indeed back safe and sound from three encounters in one day with two professional killers.

"I don't mean from the crash." Something in Cage's tone -- hints of concern and uncertainty that marred her usual cool professionalism -- made Jack turn back to look at her. Those same hints lightly creased her impassive expression into a troubled frown. "Something from when Murdoc had him."

That sinking feeling. It had seemed like a simple literary turn of phrase before. But after experiencing that soul-draining suck of dread for the third time in a day, he now thought it was a phrase too lightly used. He reflexively clutched at Cage's arm. "The docs checked him out. You did your little Jedi mind probe. He's fine." _He's fine._

"Not everything leaves an obvious mark." He sharpened his gaze on her. "Look, I'm not sure what I mean, either." She shook off his hold. "But during our recall session, you heard how he went straight from where he woke up to how he escaped. Nothing about what sent him gasping out of his memories."

" _Murdoc's torture room._ " That was what Mac had so matter of factly called the place he had been held. Jack had been able to ignore the twinge of sick fear those words had evoked... until they had gotten to said room. That had been the second time Jack had felt that gravitational pull of dread. Looking at the varied implements of pain that Murdoc had virtually left on display, the Texan had had to swallow bile as he turned to give MacGyver a quick once over. _He's fine, he's fine._ The kid's skin had been as unblemished as the tools.

"He's fine," Jack repeated lamely.

"Maybe he is. Or maybe he will be. But all of _my_ 'Spidey Senses' are telling me that he _needs_ to talk about it and that you might be the only one he'll talk to."

"Even if I'm sure I'm not going to want to hear it?"

"Jack." She placed a hand on his shoulder and looked hard into his eyes before repeating Matty's words from earlier, "Whatever happened, it's not your fault." She pushed him gently toward the door. "Just keep reminding yourself of that while you're drinking that warm beer."

"Yeah. Sure thing, Cage," he responded without conviction as he went out the door. _Warm beers..._ He tried to recapture that warm, relaxed moment when they were loading the murderous teacher into the vehicle -- when they had been done with Murdoc and everything was back to their version of normal. _Cage is just jumping at shadows_. The woman was cool, strong, and smart, but she had been in that psycho's sights twice that day and possibly bumped her head. _Mac is fine_. The blond man, alone now, was turning to him with the same smile he had worn when they traded fist bumps.

"Jack?" The grin faltered when it met the Texan's frown. "Are you alright?"

Jack shook his head and tried a grimace when he could not manage a smile. "I turned down the pain killers. Didn't think they'd react well with those overdue warm beers."

Mac's renewed smile almost chased away the phantom fears Cage had raised. "Are you okay to drive?"

"I wasn't the one dosed with some witch's brew of deadly nightshade." Was that a twinge of unease at the reference? "If it has four wheels and a steering wheel, I can drive it."

"I think an engine would also be required."

"Only if we want it to move faster than you are." Jack clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Let's go!"

\-- -- -- -- --

Jack had kept the conversation light on the drive to Mac's house. It had mostly been reliving moments of the fight with Fletcher and regrets of not adding the man to his selfie collection, punctuated with oaths hurled at other drivers.

"Say what you want about California drivers, Jack," Mac was saying as they came in the front door, "but half the times I've been behind a car with Texas plates, I've considered rethinking my pacifism."

"Yeah, so that's 50 percent less than California plates." Jack swept his eyes up and down the hallway as he replied.

"Wait, that actually sounded like sound math. Jack, are you... Are you _clearing_ my house?" The kid's question changed as he noticed what the older man was doing.

"Sorry man, it's been a long-ass day with too many unpleasant surprises." _Way too many._ "I'll get those beers. You go see if you can rig up some 'Bruce Willis in the Park' kind of thing on the patio."

" _Armageddon_? Nah, too intense. _The Fifth Element_?"

"Sounds good. Now get to it."

"'Leeloo Dallas, multipass,'" Mac quoted, holding up his Swiss Army Knife.

"'He _knows_ it's a multipass!'" Jack followed up with Bruce's line as he went to the kitchen, did his best to dodge the remaining puddle, and opened the fridge. He reached for a couple of beers, but then decided to grab the whole six-pack. Just in case. His nose twitched as the closing refrigerator door more strongly wafted its odor to him. "Mac, maybe you wanna fix the fridge before we do anything else," he called out while making his way to the patio. "It is starting to reek in... there..." He trailed off when he caught sight of his friend. _Damn it._ They had pulled out the pocket knife, certain that Mac would find it reassuring to have on his person, but the wine bottle and mask had not been cleaned up after forensics' once-over. And the blond man was staring straight at them, unmoving. _Well, screw it. Here we go, Cage._ "Yeah, Murdoc left a little calling card behind. That's where we found your knife." There was an echo of that sick, sinking terror as the Texan recalled the moment he had spotted it.

"He... You... You didn't... Jack?" MacGyver's verbal stumbling stopped entirely when he made eye contact. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know, Hoss." Though the scale was definitely tipping towards "no". "Are _you_ alright?"

"I told you," Mac held his arms out in a wide shrug, "I'm fine."

"But what does that even _mean_?" Jack set the beer down and walked toward him. " _Everybody_ says they're fine, but how often is it true?"

"I--"

"I saw that 'torture room', Mac." He held his hands up beside his head, then glided them down, curling his fingers until his fists were lightly clenched between them. It was the closest he got to a pleading gesture. "I saw the look on your face when you snapped out of that recall." He had pushed the memory of that uncharacteristic fearful expression away until now. "I saw the fear in your eyes when you read his twisted little love note."

" _Don't_." Mac actually shuddered and his expression began to mirror Jack's curdling fear. "Don't call it that." He pushed the bottle and mask off the arm of the chair before dropping into it. "Please." He leaned forward, pressing his face into his hands.

"Mac," Jack did actually plead this time. He knelt down in front of the chair and took hold of his friend's wrists. He immediately let go when MacGyver flinched out of his hold. "Please, tell me what happened."

"I just want to forget the whole thing." Mac clutched the arms of the chair and did not look up.

"And how often has that worked?" The only response was a minute head shake. "You have to talk about it." Again. "If not for your sake, then mine!" There was a note of desperation in Jack's voice, but he did not care. It got Mac to look at him. "If you don't tell me what really happened, my nightmares are just gonna keep filling in the gaps."

"I..." The blond man heaved an explosive sigh and then slumped back in his chair, eyes averted again. "I need some paper clips."

"Mac! Don't go changing the--"

"I'm not. I just... _need_ them."

"Don't you go anywhere," Jack warned as he dashed as much as he was able to into the living room to grab the beer mug of paper clips. The kid had not moved at all when he got back with it. "There." He set the mug on the chair between Mac's sprawled legs. Then, he suppressed both his impatience to hear the story and the contrary, though equally strong, desire to flee from it.

Instead, he grabbed two of the beers, handed them over as well, and sat down on the edge of the fire pit. Mac mechanically took out his pocket knife, opened both beers, and handed one to Jack, who downed about a third of his in one swig.

" _Home on the Range_ ," the younger man said after taking a long pull of his own from his bottle. "Murdoc whistled that on his way into the room." He set the beer on the arm of the chair and picked up a paper clip. "You know how he likes to make an entrance and put on a show." He was concentrating deliberately on the bit of metal he was reshaping in his hands. "His gloating theatrics essentially boiled down to 'I'm going to torture you until you tell me where my son is.' So I told him to get on with it."

"Yeah, I would, too. That sounds positively awful." Jack could not help it. He had to say something.

He was rewarded by brief eye contact and a short laugh, though the latter quickly lost its mirth. "Well, after an over the top little tirade, he launched into story time." The hands stilled for a moment on the former paper clip. "It seemed random at first. One moment he's in torture diva mode, the next he's telling me about how his son was born..." Mac started moving again, giving the metal one last twist before dropping it to the deck. It looked like a swaddled baby. "Well, long story short, this Nadia was someone he was supposed to kill, but somehow..." He trailed off, picking up a new paper clip.

"He hooked up with a mark? That's just sick." Part of Jack wanted his comment to conclude the retelling. Just the thought of "Murdoc" and "sex" in the same sentence had him irrationally itching to get his gun in his hands.

"Well, being the sick son of a bitch that he is, he said he smothered her the day she gave birth and tried to wax poetic about it -- like some twisted circle of life shit." The more Mac swore, the more nervous Jack got about what was coming next. "I was so sure that it was bullshit, just like his last little story..." He turned his head away. His hands kept twisting the paper clip, but he looked at neither it nor Jack. "I told him as much and then... he stood over me, and his eyes widened." Jack took an overly loud drink from his beer, willing Mac to do the same. The other man, however, just kept fidgeting, kept talking to the wall. "'Every. Single. Word.' That's how much was true, he said. And..." He twisted the metal in his hands with increased force. "And I _saw_ it in his eyes... Why he told me that story..."

"Mac..." _Don't_. Jack's grip around his bottle tightened. _Don't tell me._

"He was telling me that... that he could be intimate with... with someone and still kill them. And..." The paper clip flipped out of his grip and it landed on the deck in no recognizable shape. "I could see it in his eyes, Jack." Mac finally looked at him again and the absolute fear in those blue eyes hit Jack like a stiletto to the chest. He forced himself to maintain that eye contact, to keep his gaze soft, though his eyes stung and another part of his brain was screaming bloody murder. "Every perverted thing he would do to me was playing like a movie in his eyes. His hands gripped my wrists above the cuffs and he leaned in close." The bottle broke in Jack's hand, but the sound failed to penetrate Mac's focus. Just as the pain failed to distract from the listening man's growing nausea. "His breath was on my ear. 'I don't find you repulsive at all.' It was like what he said about Nadia, only..." Mac's eyes slid away again, but he kept Jack in his periphery, as if he could no longer bear the weight of his gaze, but could not give up the reassurance of his presence. "His hands slid over my arms to my sides. His breath was on neck... my throat... I could feel... feel his..."

"Mac, don't!" Jack's hand involuntarily reached out for his friend's wrist again, but he stopped it, held it clenched between them. "Don't tell me he... he..." He could not bring himself to name the act.

"He didn't, Jack." Mac made eye contact again, fear giving way to compassion. He leaned forward and placed a hand on the older man's fist. "I passed out. Or, more accurately, I _willed_ myself to pass out. When he woke me back up, he went on with his torture monologue and then... he let me escape."

"I'm killing him next time." The Texan said exactly what he felt.

"Jack..."

"There is no way I'm letting him get his hands on you again." He brushed off Mac's hand and stood up. "Hell, he doesn't even get to _look_ at you again."

"I don't even know how much of it was just him playing games."

"Is that what you're going to tell yourself now?" Without Murdoc actually being in the room, his anger lacked direction.

"Yes," Mac replied simply, fear and friendship still commingled in the somewhat pleading gaze he locked on Jack. "It's better." When he failed to get a verbal response, he continued, "Look, I was drugged and helpless, but I'm not now. You were right, Jack. I did need to talk about it... Even if you didn't really need to hear it."

"I..." Between illness, fear for his partner, and vengeful, homicidal rage, Jack could still find no words. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and finally loosened his fist. As the dampness from beer and pain from glass shards finally registered, one coherent thought came to the fore. "I need another beer."

"You need to let me do something about that hand." Mac grabbed his cuffed wrist and pulled him into living room. "I need better light."

"I still need another beer." He looked at Mac, home, whole, and healthy, and just basked in the moment. In his way, which was rarely quiet. "Look man, you promised me a warm beer and I haven't even had a half a one yet."

"Alright." The blond man tried to look exasperated, but failed utterly. But then again, Jack's own mock frown was faltering. "Sit down," Mac pushed Jack toward the sofa as he went back outside.

"You also promised Bruce Willis space action," the Texan called after his friend as he complied.

"If it'll keep you quiet and still." Mac came back with his Swiss Army knife and the beer. "Here, finish mine." He handed Jack the open bottle and set the rest of the six-pack on the sofa beside him.

"Warm and backwashy," the older man complained, but he still finished it as Mac got the DVD in and going. "I've talked to you about your hospitality before."

"Yeah. Enjoy more." The blond man handed him another beer before perching in front of him on the cube. He opened his Swiss Army knife to the tweezers and set to work pulling out glass shards.

"Am I meant to open it with my teeth?" Jack mumbled as, in another part of the room, spaceships flew across the TV screen.

"Busy." Mac frowned in concentration as he continued to pick at Jack's hand. The Texan watched him until the unusual silence registered. "What?"

Jack smiled. It was likely a smile that Riley would have ribbed him for if she had been there, but he did not care. "Nothing."

"Yeah, I know man." Mac grinned in reply. Then he set down his pocket knife and got to his feet. "Hang with Corbin Dallas while I get the first aid kit."

The Texan sloshed his still unopened beer at the blond man's retreating back. "What did I tell you about hospitality, man?"

"Yeah, yeah." And a hand wave was all he got.

Jack sighed, grabbed the pocket knife, and opened it himself. "Well, at least I got free beer," he said over the similar line in the movie.

Then he just sat back, sipped his warm beer, and waited for his friend to rejoin him on movie night.

**Author's Note:**

> **For anyone bothered by Jack breaking a beer bottle in his hand... Yeah, that started bothering me, too, after posting. My best idea is that it was half-empty and if he was holding it near the neck, and the angle of pressure was right... maybe? Don't call Mythbusters on me.
> 
> For those who have not seen the episode as recently (or as many times), Murdoc says that he found Nadia "less repulsive than other people".
> 
> OK. So I'm pretty sure it was the pliers on his Swiss Army knife Mac was using on the X-ray machine, so I think they got it back to him.
> 
> I also think that beer mug in Mac's living room in that episode had paper clips in it. Not positive, though.


End file.
